Generation Gap: First Born
by Stretch
Summary: The unthinkable has happened-the Mutant Registration Act has passed. How would you react? (Longer summary inside-Note: title change) Please R&R!!!
1. Chapter One: Dodes

A/N:  I've always thought that the mutant registration act, and what it would mean for so many people, would be an interesting subject for a story.  So I finally broke down and wrote one.  But get this, the story follows the act as it progresses in time, tracing the effects of it on one family, generation after generation.  This is the first part, taking place present day, and in the life of Rebecca Doty.  What effect will the act have on her?  How will it effect the future generations of her family?  Read to find out…

Rebecca 'Dodes' Doty:

"I got it!  I got it!" Rothstein called at the top of her lungs, waving her hands to ward off our right fielder and lining herself under the long, fly ball.

            "Cut'n 3, Cut'n 3!" was the return shout of the infield or, to be specific, Megan, our catcher.

            The play was perfect.  Rothstein was set directly under the ball.  LD, the shortstop, was precisely lined up for the cutoff throw into the infield.  Britt, at third base, was poised straddling the white leather, eager for the throw and ready to lay down the tag.  The ball was almost down.  Rothstein stretched out her mitt, straining for the catch when the ball…stopped.  No, not really stopped, but floated, hovering and wavering back and forth, still spinning just beyond Rothstein's reach.

            Then, it slowly began to drift, bobbing and floating along 'till it was directly over left field.  As suddenly as it had stopped, the ball finally resumed its downward motion, dropping neatly into the waiting glove of the left fielder, me.

            "Dodes!  One more move like that and you'll run for the rest of practice, clear?" Stew, I mean, Coach Stewart bellowed from her position at home plate, bat poised to launch another practice ball our direction.  I nodded, smirking despite myself.  

Rothstein said a few things under her breath that I won't repeat to you guys.  It wasn't very nice, but hey, 'Stein had deserved to lose that ball, especially after what she said about my latest crush.  I usually don't take her comments to heart because believe me, there are a _lot_ of comments.  See, despite being a senior, 'Stein is shorter than everyone else, including myself, and  Britt says she makes up for it by having the biggest mouth.  Her favorite target to direct her big mouth at is me, being the little kid in the outfield.  What can I say, as an underclassman, I deal with a lot of shit.  I have to take my kicks where I can get 'em.  

            As you've probably already figured out, I'm a mutant.  Through the miracles of genetics and evolution I've been bestowed with the ability to manipulate gravity and air density using just my brain power (yeah, yeah, get all the comments out of your system now, people).  That's how I changed the direction of the ball  I created a gravity-less pocket around it, and then bombarded it with extremely dense waves of air, moving it (slowly but surely) towards my waiting mitt.  I know it sounds cool and all, but believe me, unless I'm using them to piss of Rothstein, my powers are completely useless.  

Now you're probably thinking that it wasn't the smartest idea to just tell my entire team what I can do.  I have two answers for you.  First, I didn't tell them, exactly, it was by accident that they found out (it's a long story…I'll tell you some other time).  And second, despite all my apprehensions, they've been really good about it.  Complete and utter discretion, which is something new for them, believe me.  I mean, when Anne got asked to prom, they covered her locker in pictures of the guy the following morning.  Not exactly subtle, my team.  But I guess that just goes to show how people can surprise you.

            We've become really close this season, another surprising detail.  I figured that being the only sophomore on the team, I was going to be the odd man out.  Not the case here…in fact, the older girls made sure that Kelsey (a freshman and the only other youngster on varsity) and I were never left out.  They drove us with them when we needed rides and stopped us in the hall to talk.  It sounds corny, but it was nice just the same.  I liked fitting in and being comfortable with different people.  It broadened my horizons a little…

            "Alright, people, bring it in!" Stew called, waving her hand in the air and retreating into the dugout.  I shook my head and wrenched myself from my stupor.  "Cool down then pack it up."  Cool down was another lap around the field and stretching.  Packing up was trying to pry up stubborn bases and haul the pitching machine away.  Together, these events accounted for a very boring twenty minutes of our time.  So as a team, we pooled together what little cash we had and bought an 80's era stereo from a garage sale down the street.  It helped relieve the boredom a little.  Which is why, as we jogged into the infield, I paused at the bleachers and began messing with the thing's ancient dials.

Now listening to the radio might be fun, but tuning it at the demands of my team is a different story.  Static…Static…Music

            "Change it!"

            "No, keep it there!  I like that song!"  
            "Allie, stop dancing.  Dodes, go to 102.6"

            "94.4!  94.4!"  You see can see where this is going, yes?  Finally I turned down the volume so that I could hunt for a station that _I _liked without have the whole team offering their input.  Finally, I got that piece of crap we call a radio (I'm not kidding.  There is so much dust inside the wiring that the CD player doesn't even open anymore, let alone play) to tune into a station.  I was just trying to figure out what station it actually was when a news report broadcast caught my attention.

            "…And in national news, Congress has asked to reschedule the vote on the controversial Mutant Registration Act to an _earlier_ date than previously discussed, which would allow several Congressional members to continue reelection campaigning.  The Act, originally planned to be voted on at the end of May, is now being rescheduled to sometime next week.  The Mutant Registration Act, if passed, would force the exposure of any and all mutants, and has the political world up in arms.  And that's going do it for news on the 7's.  I'm Karma Sanchez and now, back to the music on 98.6…"

            I froze.  I'd known that it was coming, that it was bound to happen eventually.  But the Act had been postponed and thrown out and re-entered so many times that I never actually thought they'd get around to voting on it…

            "Hey, where's the music?"

            "Dodes, you okay?  You look like you're going to be sick?"  That shook me out of my stupor.  I turned the radio back on loud and walked out from behind the backstop.

            "Yeah…I'm fine.  Let's finish up, I have to get home and write a paper," I said as I jogged back to join my team.  I didn't say anything about what I'd just heard.  I didn't need them all worrying for me.  I could do that well enough on my own.

A/N: Yes, I know, more softball in my stories.  I just can't help myself.  I like to write about what I know, plus softball serves another purpose in this story.  See, in my AOL profile, I have my FF.Net profile page listed as my homepage.  Well, one of the girl's from my real softball team went online and found it one day.  I came to practice the next day to find my team mates quoting Zoe, threatening to lock me in my trunk, and passing around printouts of both The Struggle and Trunk Space.  So after enduring tons of razzing for my X-men addiction, I decided to extract my revenge by writing them all into my stories.  'Course I changed their names a little bit, but guys (you know who you are) this is what you get for messing with me!  In here, I own you Mwwhahahahah (evil laughter)…..Now go review! 


	2. Chapter Two: Rothstein

A/N: I think I need to clarify some things after last chapter.  While this story is set in the X-Universe, it is NOT an X-Men fic.  It's not one of those 'kid discovers they have powers and runs off the school' bits.  It is a timeline story showing what mutants endure in the present and future as a result of the registration act.  If this is a disappointment, sorry, but I hope you'll still stick around 'cause this is gonna be interesting.  Just an FYI, now on with the story…

Rothstein:

            I am _NOT _a morning person.  So you can imagine how pissed I was when I woke at 6am and found myself unable to go back to sleep.  Groaning, I stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom, where I splashed my face with cold water, drenching the floor in the process.  'Man!' I thought, 'I shouldn't be up for another twenty minutes.'  But I guess it was just one of those morning…

            I hit the power button on my TV and began rifling through my drawers, looking for something presentable that I could wear to school as the way too perky news anchor droned on behind me.

            "Hello and thanks for choosing channel 12.  It's six am on this lovely Tuesday morning…"

            "There's no such thing as a lovely Tuesday morning at six a.m," I muttered darkly, moving on to the closet, digging for a matching pair of shoes.

"…and I'm your anchor, Hugh Jass.  Topping today's stories, the Mutant Registration Act passed Congress yesterday with a ¾'s majority.  The government has taken immediate action, setting up registration facilities in all major cities across the United States…"  

The shoe dropped from my limp hand with a dull 'THUNK' as it bounced against he floor.  How could the Act have passed?  It wasn't scheduled to be voted on for another month?  'God!' I thought, 'I really should watch the news occasionally.'

            "…Anyone exhibiting signs of mutant abilities is being ordered, by penalty of law, to present themselves to the nearest registration facility immediately.  And I think we have a map…yes, here we go, of the nearest local registration area.  Now…"  But that's when I completely stopped listening.  I turned and grabbed for my phone, thrown half-hazardly on my desk, except I forgot that he bed was in the way.

            "God forsaken piece of shit!" I hissed, rubbing my shins where I'd slammed then against the baseboard.  Hobbling slowly, I made it to the phone with no other mishaps.  Dialed, waited…one ring…two rin-

            "Unnnghhhhh," was the only sound on the opposite end of the line.

            "Britt?"

            "Mnnnnnnnhhhhhh."

            "Britt, for God Sake, knock it off and wake up!" I ordered.  The next thing I heard was what I believe to be the sound of Britt putting the phone on the bed rolling over it.  There was silence for a few seconds, but just as I was considering hanging up and calling her back,

            "Unnnn…'Stein, I'mmmm gonna kill you for thissssssss, uhh," she half ranted, half moaned, but I was far from frightened.

            "Britt," I glanced at my watch, "you're getting up in two minutes anyways (bit of advice for you: you've been friends with someone _way_ to long when you know what there alarm clock is set to), so save it."

            "Why the hell are you calling so early?" she demanded, and I had to hide the satisfaction in my voice when I heard her alarm clock go off in the background. 

            "Just turn on the news," I ordered.  More shuffling in the background, then footsteps.  I tapped my foot impatiently until-

            "Holy shit," Britt mumbled.  Even though I wasn't there, I could picture here balancing on the edge of the counter in her kitchen, watching on little white TV, palm pressed against her forehead like she did when she was worried.  

            "Britt?"

            "Yeah, I'm still here…but Jesus!  Can they do that, just move up a date…'Stein, did you try her house yet?"  Britt wasn't forming coherent sentences anymore, but I couldn't blame her.  Our team was close, and losing a member…well, we all felt it.

            "No, I called you first.  Do you think it's too early to call over there?"  Mental slap on the face

            "No, you idiot!  I think the least of our problems right now is accidentally waking her mother up.  Call on the third line, I'll wait."  I followed Britt's instructions, and clicked the button on my phone once…dial tone.  Okay 5,6,3,3,7,6,1…one ring…two rings…three rings…no answering machine picked up.  The phone just kept ringing in my hands.  I clicked back over to Britt's line.

            "B?"

            "Yeah, what's up?  How is she?"

            "There's no one home," I declared.  This was bad, I could feel it in my bones.  This was really bad.


	3. Chapter Three: Britt

A/N: Thanks for the review, weasel.  Here's the next chapter.  And to answer VW's question no, only Dodes is a mutant.  I wanted to show the impact the Act would have on a non-family group, and a team was the perfect dynamic to display it in.  So the rest of the girls, Rothstein, Britt, LD, Anne, etc…are just normal girls, worried about their normal friend, who just happens to bee 'gifted' :)  Keep reviewin' peeps! 

Brittany:

            As team captain it's my job to keep tabs on all my players.  But this, this wasn't in the job description, so I found myself waiting impatiently outside Stew's third floor classroom later that Tuesday.  I forced my way in as a bell dismissed the horde of freshman within.  Stew was sitting at her desk and didn't really look surprised to see me.

            "Stew I-," I started to say, but she waved her hand and cut me off.  Her head was turned and she was scrolling across the screen of her computer as she spoke.

            "I heard already," she muttered.  I glanced over her head at the screen.  It was CNN.com and the entire page was devoted to the recent happenings in congress.  "Rebecca's not in school today."

            "Forget school.  Rothstein and I stopped by her house on our way here this morning.  The entire place was dark.  No one came to the door."  I shrugged, not knowing what else to say.  "How long is this registration thing supposed to take?  Will she be back for tomorrow's game?"  Stew just looked at me and cocked a blonde eyebrow in a 'how should I know' manner.  She's not a big talker, our coach.  

            "She's not the only one missing today, and people are starting to talk," she said after a minute, but I already knew.  I'd heard the whispers and nasty comments.  "Tell the girls to lay low and keep their mouths shut.  As for Dodes…we'll just have to wait and see," Stew shook here head slightly, as if saying that was the only thing she could think of to do.  

            The rumors grew almost exponentially as the day progressed.  It wasn't long before Dodes was being labeled as a mutant, along with most of the other absentees.  It was going to be pretty ugly for those kids who were just sick today; they were going to have to fight off some pretty ugly rumors tomorrow.  

The head of the history department decided that with national history being made as we speak (how could she look so excited at the thought of ruing so many people's lives?) it was important for us not to miss a moment of it.  Consequently, my world history lesson plans changed from discussing McCarthy and the red scare, to watching CNN all class period.  

"…The Mutant Registration Act also contains a clause which would constitute the formation of a new branch in the law enforcement division both here in Washington and at the state level, soley to enforce the points of the recently passed act.  Being referred to as the Department of Internal Defense, this new commission is already taking shape, with a department head expected to be appointed by late tomorrow afternoon…" some straight-tied correspondent babbled on.

Eventually Mr. Farnsworth, my history teacher got sick of watching CNN.  He says that the major news channels are all rigged and closely monitored products of the government propaganda.  Did I mention that he's also a little paranoid?  So he switched over to channel 12, our local news station.  Hugh Jass was once again on screen.  

"…and local law enforcement is stretched thin as more rioting ensues just outside the Pittsburgh circuit court building, the only mutant registration facility in this state.  Picketers and protesters have been marching on site since almost before the courts opened this morning, protesting both for more drastic action behind the act and for the act's immediate appeal.  State troopers in full riot gear have had to protect citizens coming to register from protestors throwing rocks, metal debris, and two armed men, who were later taken into custody.  We're going to go to a live shot now from just overhead, provided by our channel 12 Eye-in-the-Sky traffic copter… and as you can see, the crowds here seem to be growing with no sign of stopping…"

The camera panned in close to show the armed police squads protecting a line of would-be registers as they waited outside the building.  Judging by the length of the line and the rate at which it was moving, registration appeared to be going pretty slow.  I scanned the crowd as the shot pulled out, both hoping and dreading that I might catch a glimpse of Dodes's lanky frame.  But I didn't.  Then some economic analyst came on the screen, talking about market repercussions, and I pretty much zoned out.  That is until-  

"What the…" I muttered, as something bounced off my head and landed at my feet.  I turned around and looked behind me.  Anne, our team's designated hitter, gave a small wave from the back row, then pointed at the wad of paper by my toes.  I pried it open and read her loopy handwriting:

Don't Worry.  She'll be fine, you'll see.

I only wish I could've been as confident.  But Dodes didn't show up that day for practice.  I called her house later that night.  LD did too.  Neither of us spoke to a person or an answering machine.  It was as if she'd just vanished into thin air.  If I hadn't already known what she could do, I'd have sworn that her power was invisibility or something.  

            The hours blurred together and still no word from her.  Rothstein was an utter wreck.  She's an only child, see, and Dodes is kinda like the annoying little sister she never had.  I think 'Stein somehow felt responsible, like there was some way she should've been able to help.  Judging on how she looked as she drove away from practice, her car one passenger short, those feelings weren't going to clear up anytime soon.  She wasn't the only one who left with a long face that evening…hell, even Stew was acting unusual.  I guess it's one thing if you're teammate gets the flu and is bed-bound for a few days.  It's another thing completely when their world is thrown upside down leaving you behind.  I wish there was something, anything, I could've said to comfort as they left that night.  But truth be told, with my own heart beating in my throat from worry, I don't think I'd have made thee situation any better. 


	4. Chapter Four: Dodes

Dodes:

            _"Hail Mary, full of grace…"_

There were so many bodies, pressed tightly against one another.  There was no room to move, no room to speak, no room to breathe.  I was drowning in a sea of people.  Oh God, I couldn't move.  I wrapped my arms tightly around my stomach, trying to shrink and disappear.  I couldn't breathe!

"…The Lord is with thee…" 

            I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stuck in a concentration camp of the twenty first century.  They told us we were just supposed to wait in here, but then all of a sudden the water sprinklers would open and methane gas would flood out and that would be the end of us all.

_"…Blessed are thou amongst women…"_

            There was the sound of soft sobbing from across the room.  It had continued on and off for several hours now.  A tiny figure crouched behind a row of folding chairs; a head of blonde curls buried in a pair of scraped-up knees.  She couldn't have been more than 11.  She couldn't have been more alone.  People tried to comfort her, I did too.  But the minute you got close you started feeling like you couldn't breathe.  She was cut off from everything good and safe by what she had become.  We all were.

_"…And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…"_

            Three more hours.  It was an episode of the Twilight zone, and I was stuck inside it.  Time would pass, hour after hour, day after day, but I would never leave.  That had to be it.  It didn't help to think like that, I knew.  A series of numbers was read off again.  The hulking figure next to me vacated his chair and there was a dash to fill it.  A young guy took his place.  He looked a little like my father, his smile tired, but reassuring.  He glanced down at my hands, gripping my grandma's rosary tightly.  I glanced up at his head.  He wore a Yakima place neatly in the center of his fine, black hair.  He muttered something under his breath that I didn't understand until he got to _Amen._  I began to pray again and he echoed in Hebrew.

            "We need all the faith we can get," he explained.  

_"…Holy Mary, Mother of God…"_

            There was a scuffle across the room.  It was a man, rapidly speaking in Spanish and gesturing emphatically to the guard at the door.  They told us he wasn't a guard, but we all saw that he was packing.  We all knew why he was here.  The guard just shook his head and told the man to sit down.  Again the man began yelling, trying to make himself understood.  He charged for the door, trying to get around the guard.  There was a shout and flailing and a push for the door.  It was madness.  BANG!  A shot rang out.  A woman screamed and the floor tiles were dyed red, as the man fell to the floor, a bullet in his brain.    

            "He just wanted to get home to his son.  He said his child was home alone…" a young woman shrieked, her clothes flecked with splattered blood.  "He just wanted to get back to his son…"

_"…Pry for us sinners now…"_

            The stars had been replaced with fluorescent lights, set evenly along a blank, white sky-scape.  It was pushing midnight, and still I had not moved.  Most of us hadn't.  More and more came, fewer and fewer left.  The tears had long since dried on my cheeks, leaving salty patches.  The blonde child had run out of tears too.  She was passed out in a fetal ball, shoved into a corner.  Already she was learning to be strong.  She didn't even whimper when she was kicked in another scuffle.  Life lessons learned in a single day…

_"…And at the hour of our death…"_

The rosary beads slipped between my sweaty fingertips.  I had long since stopped praying aloud.  My lips were parched and my throat too dry.  The room spun as my eyelids dropped again.  The little girl was gone…the Mexican father was gone too…I would soon be gone…we all have to go eventually…The beads fell into my palm, and in my head, the prayer began again.  Then they came, the ones to take us away.  We all had a number…they collected the numbers…Dodes wasn't here, just 3641.

"3639, 3640, 3641…" they called.__

_"…Amen."_

A/N: Short chappie, but be nice and hit that little purple review button anyways…


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